


Close Your Eyes & Reinvent Me

by echoist



Series: Show Me Where Trouble Goes [7]
Category: The Following
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Rough Sex, Tourism for Psychopaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I feel strange, I feel changed, overcome by you.</i><br/>- Better than Ezra, Overcome</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Your Eyes & Reinvent Me

Jacob wakes with the sun, despite the heavy curtains and wants to roll over and go back to sleep. His body, however, has other ideas, pressed up against Paul's warmth beneath the blankets and some part of his brain registers that Grace shuffled off in the night to lie in a pile of their discarded clothing. He brings Paul up to consciousness slowly, with soft, gentle kisses, and Paul's arms wrap around him, pulling him in close. Jacob's always amazed at the way their bodies slot together perfectly, and slides one thigh between Paul's legs, stroking one hand down his back in ever lowering circles to squeeze his ass. Paul smiles against his mouth, opening his lips to the unceasing kisses from his partner. His hands stroke Jacob's side, moving to catch a nipple between his fingers and flick gently upward from beneath. Jacob gasps against his mouth, and it isn't long before he's flat on his back, Paul's knees to either side. Paul's mouth travels from his neck down to his chest, leaving a trail with his lips and tongue and tugs at Jacob's boxers with his teeth.

Jacob slides them down, kicking them off with his feet and moves his hands to Paul's chest, running his fingers up and down. He pinches a nipple and Paul arches back, his hips moving against Jacob's, and he slides off his sweatpants with a hasty motion. He works his way back up to Jacob's lips, kissing him deeply until Jacob's mouth opens beneath his tongue and they linger there, Paul exploring his mouth, their hips sliding against one another in a slow, comfortable rhythm. Paul reaches down between them and strokes Jacob's cock, eliciting a pleased murmur of appreciation. He still feels half asleep, though his body is firmly in agreement with Jacob's, and he leans in, kissing his way along Jacob's jaw.

'Do you -' he asks, hesitantly, half-afraid that he's still dreaming. 'Do you want me on my back this time?' and Jacob turns his head, his eyes wide open and blinking at the offer. It's always been this way, even after Jacob was sure of himself, more than sure of what he was doing with his hands and his lips and everything else, but Paul's never once made the suggestion. Jacob lifts up on one elbow, one finger tracing the wet line of Paul's lips. 'Do you?' he asks, and Paul reacts to the eagerness in his tone, slipping out his tongue and sliding Jacob's finger into his mouth. He sucks against one knuckle, eyes drifting shut for just a moment, before nodding.

Jacob rolls them over, one hand on Paul's chest, the other on his hips, as he tries to remember where they might have stashed a bottle of lube. They hadn't unpacked anything the night before, too exhausted to bother, and he strokes his hands across Paul's skin, from his throat on down, gratified at how hard Paul is already. 'Just a minute,' he whispers, and finds their bag on the dresser, fumbling about the inside pockets for the bottle. Paul shifts a bit on the bed before Jacob returns, turning over onto his stomach to make things easier. Jacob climbs onto the bed and runs his fingers lightly, playfully down Paul's back, not stopping until he's stroked all the way down Paul's legs, enjoying the shiver he can feel just beneath the skin. He massages Paul's neck and shoulders, aching from the road and a panicked night of heavy lifting. Paul murmurs happily against the pillow, turning his head to take in a deep breath.

Jacob trails hot wet kisses down his spine, moving his fingers gently against the knots to either side, and Paul actually groans as the tension evaporates in his wake. He spreads Paul's cheeks, knowing he'll expect the cold slick of lubricant against his rim, but deciding to take another course. Jacob lightly flicks his tongue against the muscle there, coiled tight in anticipation. Paul's startled gasp is all the encouragement he needs as he continues to press his lips against the skin, stroking his fingers up towards his balls and cradling them in his palm. He strokes the skin, feels it wrinkle and give around his fingertips and Paul's hips push back up against his mouth. Jacob presses harder, licking at the grooves, sliding just barely inside as the muscles give way. He thrusts with his tongue, moving deeper, his face buried against Paul's skin as he writhes against the bed.

'Jesus,' Paul moans, leaving a wet streak across the comforter where his cock slides across with every involuntary thrust. Jacob never knew he'd like this so much, but he does; it's exhilarating to feel Paul trembling and open beneath him, his fingernails scraping roughly down the sides of Paul's hips. He can hear jagged, rough breaths from farther up the bed, knows that he's surprised Paul, maybe even shocked him, and that just makes Jacob even harder. He twists his tongue from side to side, pressing just a bit deeper before pulling back. Paul gives a low-pitched, needy sound, and Jacob's fingers return, warming up the gel between them. He presses two fingers inside, almost experimentally, and Paul's hips rock back against him, thrusting them in up to his second knuckle. Jacob slides in and out, filling his palms with more lube and rubbing his hands together before slipping back inside, slicking his cock from base to head with the other. He keeps working Paul's ass, looking for that spot that always drives him wild when their positions are reversed, and he finds it, lightly brushing the gland at first before rubbing against it in small, slow circles. Paul holds his breath, his head arching back off the pillow as the movement of his hips stutters and resumes, faster, harder than before. Jacob pushes in a third finger, can tell that he's desperate for more, and rotates his wrist, crooking his fingers down at just the right angle to make Paul shout, soaking the sheets.

Jacob holds his fingers in place, kissing his way up Paul's back until the position becomes too difficult to maintain, and sinks his teeth into the back of Paul's shoulder. Paul moans, grinding his teeth together, his body quivering as if from a series of electric shocks. His muscles spasm over and over against Jacob's fingers as he slowly slides them out, waiting, wanting that soft sigh of reluctance from Paul's lips. He gets it, low and fractured from deep within Paul's throat, and Jacob smiles with gratified recognition.

He moves his hands, still sticky wet, to Paul's shoulder and hip, turning him over. Paul's face is a wreck, his eyes wide and gone nearly sightless. He gasps in lungfuls of air as Jacob moves a pillow beneath his hips, propping them up and Paul looks at him in stunned silence. 'Can I keep going?' Jacob asks, his voice hoarse, and god, he hopes Paul says yes. He's left a trail of precome down the edge of the comforter, and he knows it won't take long before the tightness of Paul's muscles wrings him dry.

'God,' Paul breathes, drawing out the vowel. 'Please, yes,' he whispers, pulling Jacob forward on his knees and spreading his legs. Jacob teases the rim for a merciless moment before aligning their hips and pressing his cock inside. He's gentle at first, slow, but Paul won't allow it, thrusting back as hard and fast as his body can recover. His stomach and chest are covered in come, and Jacob keeps one hand on Paul's hips to steady them both, but reaches up into the mess and rubs it into his skin. He pushes back against Paul's steady rhythm, trailing two salty-wet fingers across his lips and licking them clean. Paul makes an impossible sound, and Jacob watches his cock twitch hard, another thin white stream spurting out against his stomach.

Paul's muscles clench around him, holding his cock fast and hard inside, every backward rock of his hips an effort. Jacob's head falls to his chest, both hands braced forcefully against Paul's hips, his fingers white against the toned muscles beneath. Paul's hands move to encircle his wrists, holding Jacob fast, squeezing nearly hard enough to break the bones beneath. Jacob shudders, thrusting hard, and dragging back, until Paul gives, just a little, and his hips land hard against Paul's skin with an audible smack. He can't pace himself, not anymore, not when he looks up and sees the utterly lost expression on Paul's face. His mouth is open, his face flushed with sweat, and Jacob feels his balls tighten, the fire coiled in his belly sinking lower with each push and pull until the head of his cock finally finds that same, intense focus of nerves. Paul moans his name, rising up just enough from the pillows to move his hands to Jacob's waist. His fingers dig in, nails clawing and scratching at the skin and Jacob's sudden orgasm whites out his vision. His hips keep thrusting, slower, more gently, as the world swims back into focus, Paul's arms pulling him down. Jacob's head comes to rest just beneath Paul's collarbone and they breathe together, heartbeats calming in counterpoint rhythm beneath the skin. Jacob slides out, reluctantly, as his legs cramp beneath him, and he rolls to one side, arms wrapped tight around Paul's chest.

He traces circular patterns against Paul's skin, the air suddenly quiet and still around them. 'Have you ever,' he tries, struggling for words, any words, as his brain misfires repeatedly. 'I mean, have you ever been with anyone else, like that?' Paul gives half a nod, almost a shrug before answering. 'Yeah,' he breathes out, 'couple of times when I was younger, just fooling around.' Jacob nods, almost disappointed, but he hadn't expected a different answer. 'Not like that, though,' Paul continues, tipping Jacob's face up to meet his eyes. 'Never like like, not once.' He's still breathing heavily, and slides the pillow out from beneath his hips with a groan.

'Damn,' he says, the words almost a laugh. 'I'm going to be sore.' An apology forms in Jacob's throat, but he doesn't want to give it voice, doesn't want to be sorry for a single sound he dragged from Paul's lips. Paul rolls over on his side, placing a finger across Jacob's half open mouth. 'If you dare apologize for a damn thing right now, I swear to god I will leave you at the next rest stop.'

Jacob laughs, ducking his head. No one had ever known him quite so well as Paul, and he feels their shared heat settle deep into his bones, a warmth that catches and sticks. Paul plants a hard kiss against the top of his head, wrapping Jacob up in his arms and running his fingers across soft skin covered in gooseflesh. 'I love you,' Jacob whispers fondly against Paul's neck, and immediately wishes the words were back in his mouth as he feels Paul's fingers freeze, clenching slightly in reaction.

Paul loosens his grip on Jacob, sliding back just far enough to see the fear written on Jacob's face. His heart seems to stop for a moment, time dragging out between them as the axis of the world shifts. Paul slowly, cautiously presses their foreheads together as if approaching a wild animal, one palm curving tight against Jacob's neck as he finds the courage to break the heavy silence. 'I never thought I'd hear you say that,' he admits, his breath falling warm and damp against Jacob's lips.

'You wanted me to?' Jacob asks, his vision gone blurry and he knows his face must show the helpless worry eating him alive. Paul stares back, wetting his lips as if not even knowing where to start before sliding his head down to rest in the hollow of Jacob's shoulder. He can't keep up the exhaustion of eye contact, instead licking a sweat-damp patch of skin and savoring the taste before biting down, hard. Jacob makes an incredible sound, his neck arching back while Paul clutches and pulls at his hair, sending prickles across Jacob's entire scalp.

'You remember that night, down in the shipyard?' Paul asks, his head still bowed as if speaking past Jacob instead of to him. Jacob recalls that night perfectly well, remembers failing spectacularly and Paul's laughter echoing into the darkness. His muscles tense, waiting for the inevitable rejection and concomitant fallout. Waiting for Paul to tell him again that this wasn't love.

'I knew who you really were that night,' Paul confesses, his voice rough as if choked by gravel. 'I mean, I'd seen you. Hell, I couldn't keep my eyes off you.' He tilts his head up with a sly and dirty grin. 'There were times when I thought Emma might cut my throat in my sleep for the way I looked at you.' He kisses Jacob's throat, sucking one earlobe into his mouth before biting down again. Jacob whimpers, his hands digging into Paul's back, sliding across rivers of slowly drying sweat. 'Instead,' Paul murmurs, his lips working their way around the curves of Jacob's ear, 'she decided to be cruel, and make you kiss me.' Paul's words trail off into what might have once been a laugh, his voice unexpectedly hoarse.

'I know it was only a joke to you,' he says more kindly, sliding his fingers down from Jacob's hair to drag his nails down the side of his face. 'What else was any of it ever supposed to be?' he questions, curving his palm around Jacob's cheek. Jacob shakes his head slightly, not sure he was following.

'But then you laughed.' Paul stops, holding Jacob's chin firmly in his hand. 'I wanted to hate you for that,' he spits out, sliding his right hand down to encircle Jacob's throat. 'But you didn't know what it would do to me. Emma _did_.' Jacob can feel Paul's words sinking through his skin, knowing them more by touch than by sound, but his mind staggers away from their meaning. He wonders with a strange clarity if Paul finally means to kill him, after all.

Jacob digs his fingers into the muscles between Paul's ribs, seeking traction and the tiny pinpoints of pain each new breath would bring. This game, he'd learned, was built for two. Paul closes his eyes for a moment, resting his head against Jacob's cheek, allowing and even enjoying the sensation. They breathe together for a moment in silence before Paul draws in a deep, shuddering breath and brings the one-sided conversation around full circle.

'I was this close to bailing on all of you, after that,' Paul breathes out roughly, leaning up on his left elbow to apply more pressure to Jacob's neck. 'But when we got back into that car, after everything that had gone down, you – you stopped hiding. You let me see you.' Paul swallows around a knot in his throat, trying to make Jacob understand. 'Not the arrogant little shit you pretended to be around all the others; just you. Just your head on my shoulder, my arms around you like you wanted me there, and that was the moment I knew that I was well and truly fucked.' Paul swallows again, squeezing his eyes shut around the words as they leave his tongue, following them up with a bitter laugh.

'I'd just seen you kill two people,' Jacob manages, feeling Paul's fingers move against his throat, 'then turn around and show me kindness. That night – I didn't know who the hell I was.' Jacob bites his lips until they turn white from the pressure. 'I couldn't figure you out, either,' he confesses, taking in a heady rush of air as Paul relaxes the pressure for half an instant. 'It made me want to - take you apart, and see what was under your skin,' he gasps, 'find out what really made you tick.'

Paul's eyes open for a moment, dark with heat at the thought of Jacob's fine-boned fingers rummaging around beneath his ribcage. 'You let me trust you that night,' Jacob struggles to explain. 'I swear, Paul, I never meant to hurt you.' He turns his head as far as Paul's grip will allow, meeting him stare for stare. 'I actually thought maybe you could fix me.' His fingers slide down Paul's skin, releasing his lungs from the stinging swells of pain sweeping through him with every breath.

Jacob can see the blood moving beneath Paul's skin, flushing the surface with frustration and a fierce, rising arousal. He can't quite tell if the dampness on his cheeks came from sweat or tears any more than he can stop his hand from moving up to caress Paul's wet skin, but he leans away from the touch as if it burns. 'Fix you?' Paul asks, incredulous and a hair's breadth away from angry. 'What part of this, exactly,' he says thickly, tearing his fingers away from Jacob's throat only to pin his hand against the mattress. 'What part of _any_ of this do you consider to be me fixing you?' He grabs Jacob's right hand where it rests against his hip and slams it down against the bed to match, leaning over his prone body. Jacob shakes his head, his eyes open wide with confusion, the same color as the ocean before a storm.

'I've never _let_ you do anything, Jacob,' Paul asserts, their foreheads barely an inch apart. 'You're the one that decided to trust me, remember? You got under my skin when I tried so fucking hard to keep you out.' Jacob closes his eyes and pushes his head up to meet Paul's, mingling their breath and sweat. 'No matter how much I may have wanted it, Jacob, I never expected you to go and dig up everything I buried six feet deep.'

Something in Jacob starts to shake and Paul's words from mid-December rise up in front of him, as if reading them for the first time in bold faced print. ' _T_ _hree years in a special circle of hell_ ,' Paul had said, angry and pacing the floor, fists clenched at his side. Reminding him that he'd only agreed to live with Jacob because that was what Joe wanted, because it would mean being a part of something so much bigger. And he'd thought – oh god, Jacob realizes miserably, he'd mistaken Paul's distance early on as boredom or worse, distaste for the company. It seems so long ago now, the space between them, that he can barely remember it. Paul was right; it must have been hell.

'That's why you didn't want our chapter,' Jacob exhales, eyes shut, the words restless like flies in his mouth. He thinks about how those years could have passed if the surface tension had never been breached. They had Sarah to thank for that, unknowingly, inadvertently, and Jacob's thoughts pluck a twinge of guilt somewhere beneath his lungs. But if it hadn't been that night, wouldn't some other night have inevitably taken its place? Wouldn't they always have ended up like this, even 3,000 miles east?

Jacob's eyes open, blown wide and restless, his bones still quivering with something like shock. 'It could have been three years of nothing,' Paul breathes against his shivers, his lips just brushing Jacob's in the stillness. 'Or it could have just been sex, just something to occupy your time.' Jacob's tongue flicks out, hot and wet against Paul's mouth before forming silent words against his lips. _No. Never._

'I didn't really let myself think about any other options.' Paul admits with a shrug. 'So when you told me you were scared,' he pauses, collecting his breath. 'I didn't know what to do.' He slides Jacob's hands up along the mattress, joining them over his head, and lowers his body down until they fit together, like a circuit finally rejoined. 'If you decided you couldn't go through with it, I already knew I couldn't do it alone.' Paul's words whisper across Jacob's skin, leaving a trail of ashes in their wake. 'I didn't _want_ to do it alone. I told you I didn't love you because I needed so badly for you to hate me.' His thigh slides up between Jacob's legs, settling heavily against his hips. 'Why couldn't you just hate me, Jacob?' he spits out, moving roughly, vindictively against him.

'Because I knew what you were doing,' Jacob answers back, his words stretched thin with anger and pain and the paradoxical, continued rush of arousal. 'I could never hate you, but what the hell else was I supposed to do?'

'You were supposed to stick to the plan!' Paul retorts, nearly shouting now, scattering droplets of sweat across the bed. 'But you went and broke every rule, and all at once, everything I'd been trying to keep down just wouldn't stay dead anymore.' Jacob's eyes flash in the morning sunlight, and Paul can't look away as Jacob struggles to breathe beneath his weight. 'That's when I got this crazy, ridiculous idea that maybe -' Paul breaks off, bowing his head in resignation. 'Maybe things don't always have to end the way they start.'

Jacob proves the point, stretching his neck just far enough to press a kiss against Paul's mouth, biting down against his lower lip and pulling back hard before letting go. 'I don't give a fuck about anyone's rule book,' he hisses out between clenched teeth. 'I know I threw a wrench in the whole goddamn works, and even if it _was_ the wrong thing to do, then I'm still not sorry. I did it because I didn't want this to end.' The moment drags out, Jacob pushing up against Paul's hands and Paul stubbornly refusing to let him go. 'But even now,' Jacob says, his voice tight, 'after all the shit we've survived, and everywhere we've been, some part of me is still stupidly afraid I'm just not good enough for you to risk holding onto.'

Paul blinks down at him, his grip falling away from Jacob's captive wrists. He shakes his head slowly, his gaze drifting across the ugly wallpaper in confusion. Jacob's hands rise up numbly to grasp Paul's face from either side, forcing him to look down. 'I'm still afraid that one day, you're just going to walk out with your new name and your new life and - leave.' Jacob drops his hands down to cover his own face, turning his head to one side. 'Fuck,' he mutters, 'it's practically what you're best at.'

Paul sits back, straddling Jacob's hips for a moment before stretching out beside him on the bed. He pulls Jacob's hands down from his eyes, holding them in his own. He can't deny the truth behind Jacob's bitterness, but maybe he can find enough words to help him understand. 'When I left El Paso,' Paul says quietly, 'I was already dead.' Jacob watches him without moving, reading the words on his lips. 'I didn't have a single, long-term plan, I just wanted to go out with a bang - to wreak some havoc before the lights went out.' His lips curl up in a wry, self-effacing smile. 'Joe offered me a chance to blow everything to hell. He gave me a part in his design and an expiration date. I thought it was a good deal, and then -' he stops, glancing down at Jacob's hands clasped between his. 'Then I met you, and I wasn't so sure I wanted those lights to go dark at all.'

'I asked you,' Jacob retorts, holding himself eerily still. 'I asked you back in Arizona if you would stay, and you never gave me an answer.'

'I can't read you the ending anymore,' Paul sighs, rubbing Jacob's fingers between his hands. 'We're way off script here, Jacob. Maybe we get to Seattle and you hate it, can't stand living a new lie in a new place, and youdecide you'd be better off without _me_ dragging you down.'

'No,' Jacob whispers, shaking his head, but Paul isn't finished.

'Look, before we met Joe, no one had ever noticed or even cared what we are, or who we could be. Our lives were completely fucking different; without that one common thread, we never would have known each other at all.' Paul runs a hand up Jacob's neck and settles in behind it, a strangled laugh working its way up from his chest. 'All your goddamn pictures, and I can't recognize myself in a single one. But _you_ see me, you're maybe the only one who ever has, and you're still here.' He looks away for a moment, staring out the window before glancing back. 'It's fucking terrifying, you know that?' Paul leans forward slowly and kisses his forehead, his eyes, his mouth before Jacob can say a single word.

'Even though we might never have met,' Jacob says when Paul pulls back.

'I think that says something about seizing your chances,' Paul replies. It's not meant to be funny, but Jacob gives a startled laugh.

'Are you telling me you took what you could get?' Jacob asks, his tone light but with something held in reserve. Paul doesn't like what that suggests, and he drags Jacob's hands up over his head, linking his arms around his own neck as he swiftly rolls them over on the bed. 'No,' Paul answers, his voice low and rough. 'I left with precisely what I wanted. I took you.'

'You got away with it,' Jacob answers, dilated pupils fixated on Paul's lips before they crash forward, reclaiming Jacob's mouth, and pushing the skin back against his teeth. He tastes blood, and Paul slides his teeth along Jacob's tongue, nipping at the sides and tip. He lifts up Jacob's knees, still slick from their last round, and thrusts into him, hard and desperate and not at all kindly. The head of his cock aches as the fire of friction rubs against over-sensitized flesh, his foreskin sliding back and forth with each pulse of Jacob's muscles. Jacob's head falls back against the pillow, his back arching off the bed, and Paul can see the whites of his eyes as he thrusts forward again and again through the pain. Paul slows his motion, his tired muscles fighting him and finds a rhythm, slow and deep. Just when he's sure he can't keep going, Jacob squeezes down hard around him, making him work for it and his head spins with an unexpected rush of pleasure. Their limbs tangle together, Jacob pulling him down and snapping his hips up to match Paul's strides, and he forgets the argument, forgets to worry about what might happen next. Jacob moans and immediately bites down on his lip, a small trickle of blood dripping out from between his teeth and Paul's world explodes.

He sinks down against Jacob's chest, letting Jacob pull him into a weary embrace while his muscles spasm and clench. 'I can't promise you anything,' Paul says regretfully, tasting the truth of it on his tongue. 'I wish to god I could.'

'Just be with me,' Jacob murmurs, holding him down against his chest. 'Be here, now. That's enough.' It's a lie, and he knows it, but he doesn't have anything else left to say.

 

They lay coiled around one another for a while, trusting in the safety of skin against skin to drive away their doubts. Grace whines from beneath their pile of clothes, sticking her snout up just above the level of the bed. She licks and sniffs at them, backing away questionably, and Jacob finds a smile, ruffling the thick fur along her back. 'We should probably get a shower,' he suggests, 'and then check out before anyone sees her.'

'Oh, what are they going to do,' Paul grumbles. 'Throw us out in the street? Big loss there.' Jacob drags him up from the bed and leads him into the shower, both wishing they could take their time. Jacob lets his hands roam over every patch of coppery skin before Paul turns him around and holds him, back to chest beneath the spray of warm water. It begins to go cold, and he kisses the back of Jacob's neck as they push back the curtain and silently dry each other off. Paul packs up their bag and even halfheartedly makes up the ruined bed while Jacob wrangles Grace and they sneak off down the back staircase to the car.

Jacob's stomach grumbles, and he realizes they forgot about breakfast. 'Hungry?' Paul asks, feeling the same rumble in his own gut, and Jacob answers, 'Ravenous.' Paul's smile is just shy of a knowing smirk, and Jacob finds an alt-folk band on his MP3 player to torture Paul all the way to the nearest diner.

Two stacks of pancakes, a few eggs and an entire plate of bacon later, not to mention a solid pot of coffee between them, they're ready to set out for Berkeley. Their waitress is attractive, but her attitude grates and Jacob feels relief settle into his stomach when Paul doesn't look up at her, not even once. He can see the tension in the lines of his shoulders, notes the way his fingers tap nervously on the counter, and he's grateful for not having to intervene. He'll never begrudge Paul for who he is, but they're not in the clear just yet. After Vegas, he's still too scared to risk making a mistake. A town this small would never let the murder of a local girl go, despite slim police resources, and Jacob knows it would always stick in the corner of his mind, waiting for the tiniest detail to lead back to them.

 

Jacob feeds Grace small pieces of leftover bacon from the front seat and she licks his fingers in gratitude. It's a short drive by their standards, only three hours, though traffic in Sacramento sets them back a bit. They stop in Fairfield for more coffee and to let Grace roam around, before piling back in the hatchback and continuing down the road to Vallejo. It's a beautiful town, in its own way, and Jacob gets out to take pictures of the Carquinez Bridge and a restored theater downtown. They cross the straight before hitting Crockett, and after that, Paul really can't tell one town from the next. They get lost twice, once in Saint Pablo, and then ending up at the Marina instead of the University once they've actually reached Berkeley. Paul tries to keep his annoyance to a minimum, but after this morning, his nerves are frayed past the point of repair, and it's all he can do to find a space marked for visitor parking before jerking the keys from the ignition and slamming the door behind him.

Everything in Berkeley seems impeccably groomed to fit someone's expectations of what the city should be. Tourists, or maybe even just the residents themselves, from restoring every old building, allowing cheerful murals to take up space across the bricks, to aging hippie apothecaries selling remedies next to produce stands run by kids from local communes. Gutterpunks with mohawks panhandle in the streets across from girls playing acoustic guitar and wearing too many beads. Nothing about the brightly colored facade helps Paul's headache, or his willingness to spend the rest of the day walking around Jacob's false alma mater swarmed by crowds of seemingly happy people.

The campus itself is beautiful, he has to admit, historic architecture blending seamlessly with the new, and they take Grace for a lengthy stroll around the place. Students stop to pet her and ask questions, and Jacob smoothly makes up a story about having a younger brother applying to the school. They were in the neighborhood, just visiting friends in San Francisco, so they decided to stop by and pick up some swag for encouragement. Paul squeezes his shoulder approvingly when the lies roll off his tongue.

Jacob stops to take pictures of little bears carved into the buildings, as if it's some kind of easter egg hunt. They slip in with a prospective student tour, and Jacob quietly takes notes on a pad shoved in his jacket pocket. 'What, you can't look this shit up online?' Paul complains, and Jacob corrects him. 'Most of it, sure, but trust me, the guys that give these tours know all the little secrets.' He scribbles down details about the history of this and that building, the ghost said to haunt Bowles Hall's top floor, and the rumored tunnels connecting South Hall with the Bancroft Library. The throng of students mingling with the tour group advises them to stick around until dusk and see the famous clock tower light up the night sky over the Bay.

Jacob wins over Paul's tired protests, and with a little help from students with the right access cards, he captures a beautiful panorama of the tower from a rooftop. The spire glows, illuminating the twilight sky over the city with the bay softly undulating in the background shadows. When they finally leave campus, two bags filled with glasses, t-shirts, hoodies, and a small mascot flag tucked under their arms, they find a decent restaurant not far from campus, tired of gas station and diner fare. It's Italian, and delicious, the building housing it built sometime in the 1920s or before, unless Jacob's eye for architecture is mistaken. They check into a chain motel, the clerk side-eyeing Grace to assess her behavior, and gives them the room for an additional fee. Jacob couldn't care less; they sign in under their new names and pay with plastic.

Inside the room, pleasantly clean and orderly for once, Grace paws at the few leftover pieces of ravioli Jacob saved for her, and ends up smacking them around the carpet before deciding they're actually dead enough to eat. Paul's not amused by the mess, but Jacob cleans it up and the unstainable dark carpet looks none the worse for wear. Paul apologizes by tussling with Grace on the floor for a while, pulling out a small woven toy with loops at both ends that Jacob hadn't seen him buy. He smirks, knowing Paul's been hiding it. Grace growls playfully and Paul lets her tug him around the room, before actually losing his footing and falling down on the bed.

Jacob hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and locks it behind him, pressing Paul down against the plush, comfortable mattress, and raises his eyebrows suggestively. 'Still sore,' Paul jokes, raising his hands in mocking defense. Jacob laughs and nips at his neck, kissing his way along Paul's jaw line until he reaches his mouth. They linger there a long time, hands brushing skin, lips moving just enough to pull moans and sighs from both their throats. When they finally work their clothes off, Grace dutifully collects them from around the room and curls up in a pile by the windows, not that either of them notice.

It's slow tonight, a little hesitant, all the more meaningful for the change. Jacob takes Paul in his mouth, his tongue teasing every crevice along the skin, flickering out like lightning against the hard ridge beneath his head. The easy, roaming pace of his hands brings Paul over the edge in a way that shivers out across his body, making the breath catch hard in his throat. He pulls Jacob back up, sliding their bodies together and kisses him until Jacob's hips move restlessly against his own, reaching a hand between them slick with lube. Jacob's breath falters when Paul's thumb digs hard against his frenulum in payback, and Paul kisses his neck and his collarbones, digging his teeth lightly into the freckled skin across his shoulders, and wipes the mess across his chest when Jacob comes hard in his hands.

They lie back together, Paul cutting off the small lamp on the dresser and remembering, belatedly, to close the curtains. Jacob laughs, genuinely amused, when he realises that anyone outside could have seen them. It takes him a moment to turn that thought around, thinking that yes, anyone could have seen _them_ , Jacob Wells and Paul Torres, vacationing in Berkeley, but he puts the thought out of his mind. Paul helps, rolling him over onto his back and working his fingers deep into his shoulder muscles before collapsing, boneless beside him. In the morning, they'll cross the bridge to San Francisco, and see all the city has to offer. Jacob falls asleep in a new t-shirt shirt, dark blue with a raging golden bear across his chest, one hand slung possessively around Paul's waist.

 

They cross the Golden Gate, several pictures on Jacob's camera of the vivid orange towers sunk deep in the rolling morning fog. Highway 80 changes names more times than they can count, and it takes a few wrong turns to reach Paul's supposed alma mater. Even once on campus, they still turn the map around uncertainly while searching for the Holloway Campus, where they seem to have stashed their Computer Sciences department. Paul insists on getting the details right, and they finally find it along 19th Street. There's not much to see, a cluster of shiny, metal buildings and a rush of students piling in and out of public transit. Paul finds a shirt and gigantic coffee mug with the department's logo in a small store and buys them, thankfully bypassing any of the usual questions from the bored student at the counter. He's got his headphones in, and handles the transaction in complete silence. They meander around the rest of the campus with Grace happily trotting along, figuring out where Paul might have lived, as real estate in San Francisco proper seems off the charts for a struggling computer science student. Jacob snaps some photos as they stroll the walkways, muttering about needing a new SD card before too long.

Jacob picks up a guidebook at a second hand store within walking distance, finding a treasure trove of faded logo glasses, shirts and jackets that must have migrated from campus after someone's graduation. Jacob picks out two more generic logo shirts, the purple and yellow tones suiting Paul's skin tone surprisingly well, and throws in a pair of sweat pants and shorts for the hell of it. Their cash reserves might be running a bit low, but their new identities haven't been questioned once since hitting California, and Jacob feels secure playing the tourist. Outside, Paul hands him a couple of short scarves he'd managed to buy without Jacob noticing, the kind he could wear with a dress shirt or sweater, to hide the lingering marks of his fingers on Jacob's neck. The bruises are nearly gone, but still visible enough, and Jacob can't really get away with knotting a winter scarf around his throat everywhere they go. It's a simple gesture, silent and nearly apologetic, and Jacob takes them with a shy smile.

He picks a bed & breakfast out of the guide called the Holly and Ivy up in the Mission District, trying to find a comfortable mean somewhere between bugs under the floorboards and $200 a night. Paul hedges, but Jacob points out the note beneath the description that specifically mentions the inn's friendly policy towards pets. Paul gives in, leaning back to tell Grace they should have left her behind in Norfolk, but even she can tell from his tone that he doesn't mean it for a second. She wags her tail and licks his hand while Jacob makes the reservation, pleased to find they have a vacancy.

 

They take 19th all the way up to Lincoln, and stop for a while in Golden Gate Park. The breeze is cool, but the sun rides high overhead while they park and meander through the Tea Garden. Jacob takes more pictures, Paul doing his best to duck out of every shot, but Grace poses happily alongside pavilions and arched bridges. They pass by the conservatory on their way out through the eastern edge, and end up on Haight street almost by accident. Paul finds a place to park and reluctantly agrees to spent another few hours playing tourist. 

'You can't be in San Francisco and miss the Haight-Ashbury,' Jacob wheedles. His camera is almost never out of his hands, taking pictures of the Painted Ladies, the retro-styled signs, the crowds, the hawkers at their stands selling wares. Paul makes brief eye contact with at least six people who could probably sell him anything he wanted, if he were interested. He decides that today he isn't, and continues along the sidewalks, one hand at Jacob's back.

Jacob's feet are tired from two days of touring, but just as they're ready to call it a day, he spots a used bookseller two blocks down. Paul boggles at how he ever read the sign in the first place, but finds himself being dragged along behind. They hitch Grace to a streetlamp just outside the row of charmingly painted storefronts, and Jacob spends the next hour wandering the stacks, entranced. Paul finds a couple of used IT texts that he thinks might look good on a shelf one day, and Jacob leaves with a stack of beautifully bound classics, as well as a couple of favorite older paperbacks.

'You realize we're already shopping for shelves we don't have,' Paul mentions as they retrieve Grace from a small crowd of admirers. 'Isn't that what we came here to do?' Jacob counters with a smile. 'Besides, I love these books. I read them all the time when I was a kid.' Paul eyes the two heavy bags and continues to walk beside him in silence. He'd grown up watching sci-fi and western reruns on TV, when he wasn't occupied taking apart computers and rebuilding them. 'I think,' Jacob starts back in, 'it would be really great if I could find a job as an English teacher. History wouldn't be bad either, but literature was really my first love.'

Paul flexes his fingers in Jacob's grip. 'Your father never knew a damn thing about you, did he?' He phrases the question casually, but Jacob looks down at his purchases, his steps slowing across the sidewalk. 'No,' he answers. 'And he never cared.'

They find an old fashioned soda fountain while taking a shortcut back to the car and stop inside, picking a booth where they can see Grace panting on a small median of grass outside. After sandwitches, house-bottled soda, and splitting a gigantic concotion of fudge brownie, ice cream, and chocolate syrup, they're both in a dramatically better mood. They pass at least three tattoo parlors, and Paul bites Jacob's ear, asking 'You sure you don't want to get my name tattooed on your ass while we're here?' Jacob responds by shoving him away and rolling his eyes. 'Not unless you get a matching one,' he fires back. 

'You sure you don't think that's too egotistical?' Paul asks, with mock seriousness, and Jacob frowns. 'Getting my own name tattooed on my ass?' Paul finishes with a grin, and Jacob punches him in the arm. The sun has just begun to slide down towards the horizon, and a chill breeze haunts the streets. Despite Jacob's fascination with the district, he's still glad when they pile back into the car and head northeast across the city.

 

They make it past Bernal Heights and Noe Valley while there's still enough daylight left to find the place, and Paul begins to feel like he's getting the hang of navigating the town. The inn itself rises three stories above the street, painted dark green with light yellow trim and numerous Victorian embellishments. There's a tower with an open air cupola taking up most of the north side, and what looks like a large garden occupying an entire second lot to the south. They park along the street in a designated space, Paul grumbling about a parking ticket being the last thing they need, and haul their duffel bag inside. Grace veers off from the stone-paved path to sniff at something in the garden, but Jacob brings her back in line and follows Paul in the front door.

It's beautiful inside, lit by hurricane lamps perched atop sturdy, if antique furniture, Tiffany lamps hung from the ceiling throwing each room into a kaleidoscope of pale colors. A well-dressed man in his 50s sits behind a small desk, rising up from his chair when the bell over the door announces their presence. They introduce themselves, and the man kneels down to pet Grace on the head and read her name off her collar. 'I'm Frank,' he says. 'I believe I spoke with...let's see, Jacob, on the phone earlier, correct?'

Jacob nods, and he smiles back at the three of them, turning to pull an old fashioned iron key from a pegboard hanging behind the desk. 'You're in 302,' he announces. 'I'm afraid we serve dinner early, and they're just clearing away the dishes now, but make sure you don't miss breakfast tomorrow from 7:00 to 9:00.'

'I bet they'll make you pancakes if you ask nicely,' Paul smirks, slipping one hand in the back of Jacob's belt. Frank assures them that pancakes are one of their chef's many specialties, and ushers them up the winding, polished staircase. The room looks out over the garden, and Grace jumps up to see over the sill. A queen sized bed rests against one wall, though Frank notes that they'll have to share the bathroom at the end of the hall with two other sets of guests. Jacob nods, having expected that, and squeezes Paul's hand to ease the frown he knows is twitching at the corner of his mouth.

A small poodle the color of unripe peaches wanders in, painted toenails clacking against the floor, followed immediately by a well dressed woman in her fifth or sixth decade. It's hard to tell, from her makeup and the work she's obviously had done, but she apologizes and introduces herself as Maryanne Van Hoult, just down from Napa. Lovely to meet them, hope they're enjoying the city, etc, etc. She reaches down to collect her dog, but Grace and the poodle are already making cautious circles around one another, and Jacob makes a silent plea that she'll behave herself. The poodle sneezes, but they seem pleased with one another before Maryanne scoops it back up, carrying it against her white linen jacket like an accessory.

'The Van Hoults have been staying with us since, oh, sometime in 1987 or 88,' Frank rattles off with a smile. 'We're always pleased to have them and Sugar as our guests.' Paul bites his tongue, and Jacob strokes his back, hoping to keep their shared mockery at bay. _Sugar_ , Jacob thinks, and tries to keep his shoulders from shaking with laughter.

They mainly keep to themselves for the rest of the night, Jacob reviewing his photos of the city and Paul thumbing through the pages of Jacob's books. 'Ok, Doyle and Jules Verne I get,' Paul comments. 'But Jane Austen? Really?' Jacob spins around in the old-fashioned desk chair and stares him down. 'It's a good story,' he retorts. 'And Lizzy Bennett was sassy as fuck. Pretty bad ass for her time.' Paul shrugs, setting the book aside. 'Hey, I've read this one,' he announces, surprised, holding up _The Count of Monte Cristo_. 'I don't remember it being the size of a brick, though,' he adds, thumbing through the pages suspiciously. 'You probably read the abridged version,' Jacob notes. 'So did I, but I've always wanted to try and make through the full text.'

'Good luck with that,' Paul says, putting the books back in their bags and sprawling out across the bed. The metal frame squeals and rattles, and he covers his eyes with one arm. 'You couldn't find us a place with a decent bed?' he grumbles. 'It's an antique,' Jacob replies. 'Or at least it's supposed to look like one.' The ornate brass frame sits at least a foot off the ground, and Grace had settled in happily beneath it as soon as the other dog was removed from sight.

'We'll just have to be quiet, then,' Jacob muses, plugging his camera into its charger and crawling on the bed beside Paul. They don't quite manage it, the springs squeaking and popping beneath them, but after a while, similar noises from the room next door begin to drown them out. The rhythmic thumping of a headboard against the wall ends in a loud, feminine moan, followed by a series of mumbled four-letter words. They're curled up together, half-asleep in the afterglow when they hear the echoing voice, and Jacob can't hold back a snicker. Paul's face breaks into a grin, and they're both laughing when Grace jumps up between them, moving the bed a full inch away from the wall and sending the legs scuffling loudly against the floor.

 

Jacob set the alarm for breakfast, and Paul mutters incoherently when it goes off, a tinny ringing from the bedside table. The clock is round with tiny numbers and actual, honest to god bells on top. He smacks at it and the offending device falls to the floor, shuffling across the floorboards with insistence. Jacob retrieves it and grabs a fresh set of clothes from the dresser before venturing down to the bathroom. It's astoundingly clean, all white tile and shaded globe lights. A claw-footed tub sits against the back wall, the curtain suspended from an oval track above. There's a fancy shower head instead of a rusted antique, and Jacob lingers longer than he means to under the warm, massaging spray. Three racks line the walls, two of them already occupied by fresh white towels, and a linen closet contains more than enough replacements. He dries off and runs a hand through his hair, thankful for the ease of his shorter cut.

He dresses quickly in jeans and a black sweater, tucking a gray striped scarf around his neck. Only a few more days, he thinks, moving aside the fabric to gently press his fingers around the green and yellow spots still marring his skin. Jacob knows they'll have to be more careful next time, but he still can't bring himself to regret that night. He returns to their room and pokes and shoves at Paul until he agrees to vacate the bed, grabbing a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of pants before stumbling down the corridor. Jacob knocks gently after a few moments and tosses in a pair of briefs, closing the door before covering his face with one hand to stifle his laughter. 'Coffee,' he promises through the door before the shower cuts on, and he returns to their room to give Grace her breakfast. She seems content to lie on the bed and snuggle into the blankets instead of following them downstairs, and Jacob figures that's probably for the best. He'd like to eat most of his bacon and eggs for himself, thanks.

Breakfast is a casual, if elegant affair, served by Frank's wife Eleanor. 'Please,' she says, 'Call me Ellie,' setting a stack of pecan pancakes on the table with a ceramic decanter of maple syrup. She wears a white apron that reads 'Kiss the Cook' over a flowered blouse and slacks, her long gray hair pulled back in twin braids. Jacob warms to her immediately and introduces the both of them. Another couple, both around Jacob's age, has just finished their meal, and they go through another round of introductions before settling into breakfast. The stunning beauty introduces herself as Naoko, shaking Jacob's hand across the table before tugging along her shy, shaggy haired partner, who mumbles a name that sounds something like 'Matthew,' before they're out the door. Paul pegs her voice as the one they heard through the wall last night, and he can tell from the smirk on Jacob's face that he's noticed, as well.

Two more pairs of feet make their way down the stairs and sit down at the table, eyeing the steaming bowl of scrambled eggs hungrily. They're older, with flat, Midwestern accents, and eventually introduce themselves as Byron and David, on vacation from Grand Rapids. Byron keeps his head shaved, highlighting the handsome umber shade beneath, with cheekbones so sharp Jacob imagines he might cut himself if he ran a finger along them. David's skin tone is light enough to see a smattering of brown freckles, a study in contrast against the hints of gray in his short dark curls. He notes Paul's admiring glance at Byron's muscles below the line of his rolled-up sleeves, and suppresses the spark of jealousy that flares in his gut. He had, after all, just been pondering running his hands along the man's face himself, though somehow he hadn't thought of it as sexual. A voice in the back of his mind whispers otherwise, and Jacob resolutely ignores it.

They make small talk about their home towns while Jacob devours a stack of pancakes under Ellie's approving gaze. Paul smiles at Jacob while he lies effortlessly about teaching high school English in Seattle, and Paul discovers that David is entirely fluent in network security. Byron retired from the military and now teaches marksmanship classes, while writing detective novels in his spare time.

'It's a damn shame,' Byron comments. 'We'd been planning this trip for our anniversary, thinking that the Court of Appeals would have finally gotten its act together, but I guess that's out the window.' Jacob sighs sympathetically, and Paul mutters a vulgar comment beneath his breath about Prop 8 and unnecessary bullshit red tape. 'How long have you been together?' Jacob questions, adding, 'That is, if you don't mind my asking.'

'Fifteen years,' David answers, taking Byron's hand and smiling down at their joined fingers. 'Wow,' Jacob whispers, more to himself than anyone else, and Frank offers an apology on behalf of his home state, wrapping his arm around Ellie's waist while she refills their coffee mugs.

'There's always New England,' Jacob offers, downing half his mug in one go. He knows the coffee is a lighter roast than Paul prefers, but it tastes like heaven to him. Byron nods thoughtfully. 'As long as it took us to save up for this trip, that may be a ways down the road.'

'I hear you,' Jacob answers. 'Well, here's to your happy future, anyway,' he says, lifting his mug in an affirming gesture. 'And hey,' David speaks up. 'It might get easier for you guys; I hear there's a vote coming up next month in Washington.' Jacob slowly raises his cup and clasps it in both hands, tipping it up to hide the blush that spreads across his face. Paul glances over at him, his fingers fidgeting around his fork, and the table goes quiet.

'Have you been to the Museum of Modern Art yet?' David asks, breaking the silence in an effort to cover his possible mistake. They shake their heads, no, and Paul mentions that they just got into town yesterday. 'Check out Pier 39 or Fisherman's Wharf while you're here,' Byron offers. 'Tons of stuff to do out that way. Or there's always the Presidio and the Gardens, if that's more your thing.'

'Jacob's a photographer,' Paul answers, rubbing a hand on his shoulder. 'We were planning on cruising through the historic districts for a while, but the parks sound like good ideas, too.' Jacob smiles, wondering if he's serious. He'd like to stay in the city for a few days, take as many tacky new couple shots as possible to fill an album. The closer they get to Seattle, the more solid and real the idea becomes in Jacob's mind, and after what he'd said – what he hadn't meant to say, but foolishly, dangerously had – he knows it's real for Paul, too. This was supposed to be the city where they'd met, after all, introduced by mutual friends while Jacob was still getting his degree across the bridge. He knows he won't have any pictures to show of his time in school, of the friends he supposedly made and went out with on the weekends, but they'd just have to settle for what they could get.

 

They clear the dishes from the table once they're finished, and Ellie hastily removes them to the kitchen, shooing the boys away. 'You're guests,' she reminds them. 'And on vacation, besides. You don't get to do any of the chores.' Paul smiles and wraps his arm around Jacob, telling Byron and David they'd see them around. 'They seem nice,' Jacob muses as they climb the staircase to retrieve Grace and Jacob's camera from their room. Paul nods, then leans in and whispers against Jacob's ear. 'Have I ever told you how hot it is when you lie like that,' meaning the elaborate stories Jacob plucked from the ether and spun around the breakfast table. 'I have it on good authority that I have a very talented tongue,' Jacob replies, and gets pushed hard against the wall, Paul kissing him until he's breathless.

A soft growl interrupts them, and they hastily break apart and make room on the stairs for Maryanne, Sugar dangling from one arm like a fashionable clutch. A tall, broad shouldered man paces behind her, overdressed for breakfast. He casts a disparaging glance in their direction before giving them a wide berth. 'That must be the distinguished Mr. Van Hoult,' Jacob whispers, slinging his arm around Paul's waist as they reach the third floor. 'Reminds me weirdly of my dad,' he adds, finding the room key in his pocket. Grace hops off the bed when they open the door, tail wagging, her leash in her mouth. Jacob laughs, and secures it to her collar. 'All right, all right!' he promises while she paws at his knees. They grab their keys, and Jacob slings his camera bag over one shoulder, Grace leading the way down the steps. Paul locks the door behind them, just in case anyone decides to snoop around.

They walk Grace in the garden next door, Paul grimacing as he retrieves her leavings in the small plastic bags hanging next to a sign instructing guests to please clean up after their pets. There's a small firepit in the center, as well as two reflecting pools and elegant lines of scaffolding hung with dormant vines. Jacob wishes he could see it in the spring, the rose bushes in full flower, leaves hanging down to shade the walkways. He can tell how much effort Frank and Ellie put into keeping the place up, and it stirs up a longing in his chest for something permanent. Something like home.

Ellie had promised it would be all right to leave Grace with them while they go sightseeing, so Jacob decides to take her up on the offer. Grace nuzzles up beside her armchair, and licks her hand while Ellie obligingly scratches her head. 'Grace will be just fine without you for a few hours,' she says with an amused smile. 'Now you boys go have some fun.'

 

They do, taking the Metro Trolley north and spending the day meandering around Fisherman's Wharf with swarms of tourists, even at this time of year. There's a fire dancer on one corner, and an elderly gentleman dancing with a collie on another. They pass a few mimes, and Paul sticks his head through the doorway of an abandoned building, and motions for Jacob to follow after him. The large room is full of old arcade games, from a decrepit air hockey table to a mostly intact ski-ball ramp. There's even a terrifying clown in a box that at some point, might have offered them their fortunes. Jacob is entranced, and Paul moves out through the other side of the building, dodging vendors hawking crab any way you like it. There's a submarine harbored in the bay with a sign advertising tours of the U.S.S. Pampanito, but Paul's stomach turns at the thought of being inside one of those things for any length of time.

They end up skipping lunch after such a massive breakfast, and ride the trolly along Embarcado for a while before stopping at a reasonably cheap restaurant along the bay. The back of the building is almost entirely glass, and Jacob ducks out onto the patio to take photographs of the hundreds of seals sunning themselves along the pier. Jacob makes a point of taking pictures of themselves everywhere they go, some laughing, some mocking, most deliberately terrible. He takes better photographs in Chinatown, showcasing the vivid colors and hectic, bustling streets. It's Jacob's favorite part of the city so far, and they stay out past sunset, walking the still-crowded streets on their way back to a trolly stop. Paul reluctantly agrees to visit the art museum tomorrow, if Jacob agrees to head out the day after.

'Hey,' Jacob says suddenly, passing a line full of people waiting impatiently for access to a think brick building lit up with neon. 'I bet I've found something you'd like better than the art museum.' Paul glances up from watching the light reflected in an oil-slicked puddle and raises an eyebrow. 'You want to go clubbing?' he asks, somewhat bemused. 'Come on,' Jacob urges, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the line. They can hear the bass through the wall, and while this has never been Jacob's scene, even with women, he thinks it might be fun to give it a try. 'What are vacations for?' he asks Paul with a sly wink.

The club takes up at least three floors of a repurposed hotel, dating back to at least the 1950s. Purple neon letters above the door spell out _Wilde_ in a curving script, a line of Chinese characters lit up beneath that Jacob assumes carry the same meaning. They finally reach the entrance and pay the cover, wandering into a sea of darkness lit by strategically placed flashing lights. Instead of a coat check, there's a small room off to the left side filled to capacity with small orange lockers. They luck out and find one empty, the key still danging from the lock, and Paul sheds his jacket and flannel. Jacob strips off his coat and sweater, pausing a moment before removing the striped scarf. The bruises are too light now to notice in the dark, and even if anyone does, they're not likely to comment on them here. He manages to shove their clothing and his camera into the tiny space before Paul locks it back and pockets the key. Jacob gives Paul an approving once over, enjoying the way he looks in tight black jeans and a dark sleeveless undershirt. Paul smirks back and flicks Jacob's nipple, watching them both rise to brush the edges of his gray v-neck.

The bass shakes the walls, even from in here, pumping out the sort of modern electro-pop that seems to get bodies on the floor these days. Paul frowns, but lets Jacob pull him down a short flight of stairs to the main dance floor anyway. They move a bit awkwardly at first, pushing through a sea of bodies, before Paul catches the rhythm of the next song in the set and pulls Jacob against him. They dance tight and close, and Jacob's surprised to note how easily Paul lets the rhythm move through his body. He hadn't even known Paul could dance, much less that he'd be good at it. It's swelteringly hot in the crowd, despite the giant industrial fans anchored to the ceiling far above their heads, but Jacob doesn't mind a little sweat if he gets to have his hands all over Paul's body.

The song changes, catching a slower, sultry beat and Paul smiles in familiarity. 'Something you like?' Jacob shouts over the bass and noise of the crowd, and Paul nods his head slowly, working his hands down Jacob's back. It's a thrumming trip-hop number Jacob vaguely remembers from his high school years, but Paul seems to know it well. He'd never paid much attention to the age difference between them, and doesn't care, but Jacob knows he'd never heard this song at any of the clubs he'd infrequently visited in college. He follows Paul's rhythm, letting Paul turn him around in his arms to hook his fingers in his waistband. Jacob grinds back against him, leaning his head back against Paul's shoulders and letting his eyes fall shut. Paul's hands wander up his flat stomach and across his chest, and he turns back around, kissing him softly. Paul returns the kiss with interest, letting his hands slide down to Jacob's ass and pressing their bodies closer together. Jacob can feel the bass in his bones, hear it echoed in Paul's chest, and yes, this is exactly what they both needed after the last few days.

Jacob feels someone slide up behind them as another pair of hands rests lightly on his waist, and he jerks away, turning around. A well-built blond stands behind them, swaying to the music with one eyebrow raised. Paul removes his hand with a tight grip, shaking his head. His lips form the word 'No,' and the man lifts up both hands in apology before vanishing back into the crowd. Jacob smiles up at Paul and leans in close, brushing his lips against his ear. 'I love it when you get possessive,' he whispers, and he's sure Paul hears him when the anger on his lips fades into a smirk.

Paul presses his index finger lightly against Jacob's ear, blocking out the music and the background noise. 'Says the man who isn't gay, dancing with a man in a gay club in San Francisco.' He's afraid for a moment that it's a mistake, but Jacob just turns his head to cast a curious gaze around the room. He sees a mass of faces he would classify as handsome, mostly dressed simply in tight fitting clothing. There are a few drag queens, colorful flowers among a garden of leather and flashy, revealing clothing. Many of the most vigorous dancers are well-toned, if not outright muscular, but his eyes glance past them all and return to Paul. 'It's really just you,' Jacob says, mimicking Paul's gesture to speak into his ear. 'I'm not sure what that makes me, but I know that I don't care.' Paul's hands wrap tightly around his waist, and he presses his mouth to Jacob's forehead, lips moving softly down his face until they reach his lips.

Jacob loves the taste of him, can still barely taste the smoky sauce from dinner in his mouth. He reaches up to wind his fingers through Paul's hair, letting the other hand linger against his face. Two more dancers try to cut in, and Paul repels the first one with a forceful push to the chest, Jacob handling the second more diplomatically with a sly shake of his head. After an hour or so, Jacob leans in and whispers, 'You want to get out of here?' managing to insinuate both 'before the bouncers kick us out' and 'I want your cock inside me' with the same seven saliva-slick words. Paul kisses him hard and nods, and Jacob takes his hand, winding back through the crowd to collect their belongings from the lockers. The line out front has only grown, despite the late hour, and they decide to aim for a side door, accessible by a narrow catwalk along one wall.

They slip out easily, soaked with sweat and in desperate need of air. 'You sure you didn't want to stay and dance with any of those other guys?' Paul asks, jokingly, as he catches his breath. 'Nah,' Jacob smiles. 'I figured out pretty early on who I wanted to go home with.'

'You're damn right you did,' Paul answers, shoving him against the bricks and cushioning the back of his head while kissing the breath right out of him. Several people move past them in a heavy crowd and whistle; Paul gives them all the middle finger and continues to move his lips down Jacob's neck. Jacob finally pushes him gently back with a grin, and reminds him that he'd prefer a bed, or really, any other surface than a very public alleyway.

 

The night air dries their skin as they walk several blocks in the direction of the last bus stop they can remember. The trolly won't take them all the way back to the inn, and Jacob isn't sure if it runs this late, anyway. They gradually shuffle back into various layers of clothing as they cool down enough for the late night breeze off the water to feel chill. They've rambled quite a ways when Paul stops in front of a long, winding alley. Jacob sees the shadow of a man slowly pacing through to the other side, and looks back to see a glint in Paul's eye, a tilt to his head. Paul drops his hand and follows the man, pulling up his hood and slipping his gloves from a jacket pocket. He glances back once at Jacob as if to ask what he's waiting for. Jacob hesitantly takes a step forward, trying to muffle his shoes against the bricks. Jacob can barely see in the absence of streetlamps and the persistent fog that holds sway over the city. He passes what might be a door, but it's closed and doesn't bear any clear markings. He keeps an eye over his shoulder, just in case it decides to open.

Paul moves quickly, and he's on the man before he has a chance to shout or even reach for a weapon, if he's carrying one. He holds his hand over the man's mouth as he tries to bite against the leather. Paul just smiles and shakes his head back and forth slowly. He brings his other hand and delivers a swift strike to each of his lungs with his hand flat like a blade, moving up to do the same at his throat. The man nearly buckles, unable to take a breath, and Paul moves both hands around his throat to choke him. It's quick and brutal, wasting no time in case his target regains the ability to call for help. His eyes roll back and he sinks to the ground, still making quiet little gasps for breath. Paul pulls a switchblade from an inner pocket and flips it open, thrusting it into the man's throat over and over again.

Jacob watches, only tearing his eyes away from the scene to make certain no one else has passed near the alley. Unfortunately for the man at Paul's mercy, they're quite alone. Paul bends down, pressing the knife between his third and fourth rib on his left side, dragging it across in a line. Jacob can hear the squelch of ruptured organs in the dark, and his heart beats faster. Paul mirrors the action on the right, following it up with several forceful stabs to his abdomen. Jacob watches the blood splatter across Paul's face, catching in his hair and smudging the lenses of his glasses. The man's head has fallen to one side, his eyes closed, heart no longer beating. He bends down, tilting his head to match the man's angle, watching his skin turn ashen with death.

Paul digs around in the man's suit pockets until he finds a wallet, slipping an expensive looking gold watch off his left wrist and a ring from his right hand. Jacob wonders what a well-dressed man was doing in this alley to begin with, and he can see the same question mirrored on Paul's face as he glances up, cautiously looking around for a dealer or a pimp. 'No one,' Jacob whispers. 'There will be soon,' Paul replies, slipping the gloves back into his pocket and using the inside of his jacket to wipe the blood from his face. Jacob carefully removes a handkerchief from the man's pocket without touching the suit and cleans Paul's glasses, moving onto the drops of red in his hair. 'C'mon,' Jacob whispers, and they carefully make their way out from the other end of the alley.

A thin rain begins to fall as they make their way towards a bus stop. Jacob shivers in the sudden cold, but Paul's glad for it. Not only will it rid the last traces of blood and mess from his skin, it will start to deteriorate any evidence that might have been left behind in the alley. His boots are common, and Jacob's red chuck sneakers, while slightly more fashionable, are probably the same size and bear the same tread as hundreds of other across the city. By the time they board a bus going in the direction they need, they're soaked with rain, and look just like anyone else out in the crowd.

 

The bus takes them within a few blocks of the inn, and Jacob stops Paul under the porch light, looking him over and running a hand through his hair. He's fairly certain no one's awake at this hour, but there's a key to the front door hidden beneath a small statue of a deer in the garden for guest emergencies, and Jacob finds it, fitting it to the lock. He leaves it on the counter in the darkened front room after locking the door from the inside, hurrying Paul upstairs and into the bathroom. He leaves and returns to their room, Grace already asleep on the bed. She cracks an eye and thumps her tail happily as he rummages through the one drawer they've taken up in the dresser and finds clean sweats for both of them before returning to the bathroom.

Paul's already in the shower, his clothing discarded on the floor, and Jacob strips, pulling the black hoodie with him under the stream of water. He squeezes it until the rush of light red flowing clockwise down the drain turns clear. 'That was a little risky, don't you think?' he asks Paul, turning back around to face him. Paul's face glows in the light filtering in through the curtain, his eyes hot, his smile hungry and wicked with intent. He takes the jacket from Jacob and hangs it over the railing, running a hand down Jacob's side. Jacob shivers lightly at the touch.

'A _little_ risky?' Paul counters. 'It was exceptionally risky.' He reaches a hand between Jacob's legs, stroking his cock, already half hard. 'What if he'd had a gun?' Jacob asks shakily, bracing one hand against Paul's shoulder. 'Then that would have gone a lot differently,' Paul answers, sliding up and down the soap-slicked shaft. 'A lot noisier, I'd imagine,' he whispers against Jacob's ear. 'And now I'd have another gun.' He squeezes harder, tugging Jacob forward by his cock and Jacob's right hand hits the tile wall with a harsh, wet sound. Paul grabs a small bottle of conditioner, hoping it doesn't smell like flowers or some sort of awful fruit before coating his hand with a silky stream. He wraps his left arm around Jacob's waist, holding him up while stroking harder and faster. The water hits the back of Jacob's neck, flowing down his face when he arches back against the sensation. Paul watches the blood pool and flush beneath Jacob's skin, glancing back up to see the irises of his eyes shrink away into nothing. He's biting his lip to keep from crying out, but Paul's left hand begins to wander, his fingers sliding between Jacob's cheeks and pressing against the one spot that will loosen his tongue.

Jacob can't hold back the moan that rises from his throat, his lips falling open as his head bows forward. Paul's finger slides inside him, teasing, the angle making it difficult to reach much farther. He pulls back on Jacob's shaft and strokes the head, so slick he can barely maintain a grip, and Jacob squirms, bucking his hips up and back into Paul's touch. He can't last long, and Paul bears down, fisting his hand roughly along Jacob's cock until he comes with a cry, loud and echoing in the tiled room. He reaches up a hand belatedly to cover his mouth, enough blood returning to his face to blush. 'I hope we didn't wake anyone up,' he manages between rough breaths, the smirk on his face proving the words a lie.

He turns around, letting the water run down his front, rubbing his hands over his face. Paul wraps his arms around him from behind, and Jacob feels his erection, hard and throbbing against his ass. For a moment he considers what it might be like to let Paul take him like they are, but visions of smacking his head against the hard ceramic edges of the tub or worse, the chrome temperature dials, cloud his thoughts. He turns around in Paul's arms, kissing him wet and sloppy, before sliding down to his knees.

Jacob licks his way along Paul's cock, starting at the base and working up to his head. There's a bead of precome shining on the tip, and Jacob licks that down, too, before working his lips around the head and teasing his foreskin up and back down again. He sucks the soft, velvety skin against his tongue, drawing a deep, gratified sound up from Paul's chest as one hand tangles in Jacob's hair, encouraging him. Jacob reaches back to cup his balls in one hand, the other firmly stroking the base of Paul's shaft, and he can feel the muscles in Paul's legs beginning to shake.

The water begins to cool, and Jacob reaches back around to turn the dial up, but it's already pushed as far as it will go. He shrugs and goes back to work, letting the streams of lukewarm water pound his neck and upper back. He moves the hand on Paul's cock smoothly up to the top, slowly dragging the thin membrane up and over his head, again and again. Paul's hips buck against his fist, his eyes watching Jacob intently. Jacob slips his head back into his mouth, stretching the top layer of skin as he slides his tongue beneath it. The water turns cold and Jacob shivers, feeling his muscles tense, but determined to ride this out.

Paul's hand slips from Jacob's hair to land on his shoulder, feeling the cold water for the first time, and letting his hand rest against Jacob's cheek. Jacob lightly shakes his head and continues as Paul's back curves forward, his other hand shakes against the tiles. Jacob moves his tongue in slow, careful circles, sucking gently at first, and then with more effort as Paul's hips rock and and forth, losing track of their rhythm. He slides his tongue back out, working his way down Paul's shaft to meet his fingers, still working up and down like the case for a piston. His hands are freezing, but Paul's cock doesn't seem to mind, and he keeps stroking, harder and faster with each pass.

He wants to slick up his fingers, reach back and push into Paul without warning, but he's close, Jacob can feel it as a stream of thick, hot come escapes the slit. He runs his tongue through it, closing his lips around Paul's cock and sucking it down, hard. Paul cock jumps, twice, filling his mouth with the taste of salt and sweat that's uniquely his, and Jacob swallows every bit of it down. Paul pulls back, his cock still leaking as it bounces against Jacob's chin. Jacob kisses the tip of it before resting his hands against the edge of the tub, every muscle cold and aching with protest. Paul kneels down, wrapping his arms around him in the ice cold flow of water.

'Jesus, Jacob,' he says over the sound of the water, reaching around to shut it off. 'You could have stopped.' Paul grabs a folded towel from a wicker chair and wraps it around Jacob's shoulders, pulling him tight and close. 'No,' Jacob mutters, his teeth chattering behind shaking lips. 'I really, really couldn't have.' Paul helps him up and over the side of the tub, grabbing another towel and drying him off while he shakes. He pulls Jacob's boxers and flannel pants up over his hips, wrapping a towel tightly around his shoulders. 

Paul dries himself off enough and slips into his briefs and sweatpants, swiping the edge of a towel over a light red spot on the floor. He picks up their pile of rain-soaked clothing and remembers to grab his hoodie from where it hangs on the curtain rod before wrapping an arm around Jacob and stumbling back to 302. He grabs the first t-shirt he sees and slips it over Jacob's head in place of the towel, then moves to pull the blankets off the bed. Paul pushes Jacob against the bed frame, digging around in the small trunk beneath the window for an extra quilt. Jacob's hands grasp at the edge of the mattress, but he hasn't moved, and Paul gently helps him onto the bed and tucks the blankets around him. He climbs in on the other side, adding the quilt on top before burrowing through the pile to press himself against Jacob's side. Paul wraps one arm around Jacob's waist, holding him close, while the other strokes his hair and rubs the back of his neck. Grace hops onto the lid of the trunk, and from there onto the bed, settling herself at Jacob's feet. For once, Paul doesn't push her away, and they lie there, holding each other together, until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to post! I was hoping to make it the last one, so I was also writing from the end and hoping to meet up in the middle. ~~That didn't really work.~~ Chapter 8 and most likely a short epilogue will follow, as soon as I can get them written.
> 
> I love everyone that has stuck with this story! <3


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